Chapter 5

WHERE AM I?

(Notes by Simon Hart, the Engineer.)

Where am I? What has happened since the sudden aggression of which Iwas the victim near the pavilion.

I had just quitted the doctor, and was about to mount the steps, closethe door and resume my post beside Thomas Roch when several mensprang upon me and knocked me down. Who are they? My eyes having beenbandaged I was unable to recognize them. I could not cry for help,having been gagged. I could make no resistance, for they had bound mehand and foot. Thus powerless, I felt myself lifted and carried aboutone hundred paces, then hoisted, then lowered, then laid down.

Where? Where?

And Thomas Roch, what has become of him? It must have been he ratherthan I they were after. I was but Gaydon, the warder. None suspectedthat I was Simon Hart, the engineer, nor could they have suspected mynationality. Why, therefore, should they have desired to kidnap a merehospital attendant?

There can consequently be no doubt that the French inventor has beencarried off; and if he was snatched from Healthful House it must havebeen in the hope of forcing his secret from him.

But I am reasoning on the supposition that Thomas Roch was carried offwith me. Is it so? Yes--it must be--it is. I can entertain no doubtwhatever about it. I have not fallen into the hands of malefactorswhose only intention is robbery. They would not have acted in thisway. After rendering it impossible for me to cry out, after havingthrown me into a clump of bushes in the corner of the garden, afterhaving kidnapped Thomas Roch they would not have shut me up--where Inow am.

Where? This is the question which I have been asking myself for hourswithout being able to answer it.

However, one thing is certain, and that is that I have embarked uponan extraordinary adventure, that will end?--In what manner I knownot--I dare not even imagine what the upshot of it will be. Anyhow,it is my intention to commit to memory, minute by minute, the leastcircumstance, and then, if it be possible, to jot down my dailyimpressions. Who knows what the future has in store for me? And whoknows but what, in my new position, I may finally discover the secretof Roth's fulgurator? If I am to be delivered one day, this secretmust be made known, as well as who is the author, or who are theauthors, of this criminal outrage, which may be attended with suchserious consequences.

I continually revert to this question, hoping that some incident willoccur to enlighten me:

Where am I?

Let me begin from the beginning.

After having been carried by the head and feet from Healthful House,I felt that I was laid, without any brutality, I must admit, upon thestretchers of a row-boat of small dimensions.

The rocking caused by the weight of my body was succeeded shortlyafterwards by a further rocking--which I attribute to the embarking ofa second person. Can there be room for doubt that it was ThomasRoch? As far as he was concerned they would not have had to take theprecaution of gagging him, or of bandaging his eyes, or of bindinghim. He must still have been in a state of prostration which precludedthe possibility of his making any resistance, or even of beingconscious of what was being done. The proof that I am not deceivingmyself is that I could smell the unmistakable odor of ether. Now,yesterday, before taking leave of us, the doctor administered a fewdrops of ether to the invalid and--I remember distinctly--a little ofthis extremely volatile substance fell upon his clothing while he wasstruggling in his fit. There is therefore nothing astonishing in thefact that this odor should have clung to him, nor that I should havedistinguished it, even beneath the bandages that covered my face.

Yes, Thomas Roch was extended near me in the boat. And to think thathad I not returned to the pavilion when I did, had I delayed a fewminutes longer, I should have found him gone!

Let me think. What could have inspired that Count d'Artigas with theunfortunate curiosity to visit Healthful House? If he had not beenallowed to see my patient nothing of the kind would have happened.Talking to Thomas Roch about his inventions brought on a fit ofexceptional violence. The director is primarily to blame for notheeding my warning. Had he listened to me the doctor would not havebeen called upon to attend him, the door of the pavilion would havebeen locked, and the attempt of the band would have been frustrated.

As to the interest there could have been in carrying off Thomas Roch,either on behalf of a private person or of one of the states of theOld World, it is so evident that there is no need to dwell upon it.However, I can be perfectly easy about the result. No one can possiblysucceed in learning what for fifteen months I have been unable toascertain. In the condition of intellectual collapse into which myfellow-countryman has fallen, all attempts to force his secret fromhim will be futile. Moreover, he is bound to go from bad to worseuntil he is hopelessly insane, even as regards those points upon whichhe has hitherto preserved his reason intact.

After all, however, it is less about Thomas Roch than myself that Imust think just now, and this is what I have experienced, to resumethe thread of my adventure where I dropped it:

After more rocking caused by our captors jumping into it, the boatis rowed off. The distance must be very short, for a minute after webumped against something. I surmise that this something must bethe hull of a ship, and that we have run alongside. There is somescurrying and excitement. Indistinctly through my bandages I can hearorders being given and a confused murmur of voices that lasts forabout five minutes, but I cannot distinguish a word that is said.

The only thought that occurs to me now is that they will hoist me onboard and lower me to the bottom of the hold and keep me there tillthe vessel is far out at sea. Obviously they will not allow eitherThomas Roch or his keeper to appear on deck as long as she remains inPamlico Sound.

My conjecture is correct. Still gagged and bound I am at last liftedby the legs and shoulders. My impression, however, is that I am notbeing raised over a ship's bulwark, but on the contrary am beinglowered. Are they going to drop me overboard to drown like a rat, soas to get rid of a dangerous witness? This thought flashes into mybrain, and a quiver of anguish passes through my body from head tofoot. Instinctively I draw a long breath, and my lungs are filled withthe precious air they will speedily lack.

No, there is no immediate cause for alarm. I am laid with comparativegentleness upon a hard floor, which gives me the sensation of metalliccoldness. I am lying at full length. To my extreme surprise, I findthat the ropes with which I was bound have been untied and loosened.The tramping about around me has ceased. The next instant I hear adoor closed with a bang.

Where am I? And, in the first place, am I alone? I tear the gag frommy mouth, and the bandages from my head.

It is dark--pitch dark. Not a ray of light, not even the vagueperception of light that the eyes preserve when the lids are tightlyclosed.

I shout--I shout repeatedly. No response. My voice is smothered. Theair I breathe is hot, heavy, thick, and the working of my lungs willbecome difficult, impossible, unless the store of air is renewed.

I extend my arms and feel about me, and this is what I conclude:

I am in a compartment with sheet-iron walls, which cannot measure morethan four cubic yards. I can feel that the walls are of bolted plates,like the sides of a ship's water-tight compartment.

I can feel that the entrance to it is by a door on one side, for thehinges protrude somewhat. This door must open inwards, and it isthrough here, no doubt, that I was carried in.

I place my ear to the door, but not a sound can be heard. The silenceis as profound as the obscurity--a strange silence that is only brokenby the sonorousness of the metallic floor when I move about. None ofthe dull noises usually to be heard on board a ship is perceptible,not even the rippling of the water along the hull. Nor is there theslightest movement to be felt; yet, in the estuary of the Neuse, thecurrent is always strong enough, to cause a marked oscillation to anyvessel.

But does the compartment in which I am confined, really belong toa ship? How do I know that I am afloat on the Neuse, though I wasconveyed a short distance in a boat? Might not the latter, instead ofheading for a ship in waiting for it, opposite Healthful House, havebeen rowed to a point further down the river? In this case is it notpossible that I was carried into the collar of a house? This wouldexplain the complete immobility of the compartment. It is true thatthe walls are of bolted plates, and that there is a vague smell ofsalt water, that odor _sui generis_ which generally pervades theinterior of a ship, and which there is no mistaking.

An interval, which I estimate at about four hours, must have passedsince my incarceration. It must therefore be near midnight. Shall I beleft here in this way till morning? Luckily, I dined at six o'clock,which is the regular dinner-hour at Healthful House. I am notsuffering from hunger. In fact I feel more inclined to sleep thanto eat. Still, I hope I shall have energy enough to resist theinclination. I will not give way to it. I must try and find out whatis going on outside. But neither sound nor light can penetrate thisiron box. Wait a minute, though; perhaps by listening intently I mayhear some sound, however feeble. Therefore I concentrate all my vitalpower in my sense of hearing. Moreover, I try--in case I shouldreally not be on _terra firma_--to distinguish some movement, someoscillation of my prison. Admitting that the ship is still at anchor,it cannot be long before it will start--otherwise I shall have to giveup imagining why Thomas Roch and I have been carried off.

At last--it is no illusion--a slight rolling proves to me, beyond adoubt, that I am not on land. We are evidently moving, but the motionis scarcely perceptible. It is not a jerky, but rather a glidingmovement, as though we were skimming through the water without effort,on an even keel.

Let me consider the matter calmly. I am on board a vessel that wasanchored in the Neuse, waiting under sail or steam, for the result ofthe expedition. A boat brought me aboard, but, I repeat, I did notfeel that I was lifted over her bulwarks. Was I passed through aporthole? But after all, what does it matter? Whether I was loweredinto the hold or not, I am certainly upon something that is floatingand moving.

No doubt I shall soon be let out, together with Thomas Roch, supposingthem to have locked him up as carefully as they have me. By being letout, I mean being accorded permission to go on deck. It will not befor some hours to come, however, that is certain, for they won't wantus to be seen, so that there is no chance of getting a whiff of freshair till we are well out at sea. If it is a sailing vessel, she musthave waited for a breeze--for the breeze that freshens off shore atdaybreak, and is favorable to ships navigating Pamlico Sound.

It certainly cannot be a steamer. I could not have failed to smell theoil and other odors of the engine-room. And then I should feelthe trembling of the machinery, the jerks of the pistons, and themovements of the screws or paddles.

The best thing to do is to wait patiently. I shan't be taken out ofthis hole until to-morrow, anyway. Moreover, if I am not released,somebody will surely bring me something to eat. There is no reason tosuppose that they intend to starve me to death. They wouldn't havetaken the trouble to bring me aboard, but would have dropped me to thebottom of the river had they been desirous of getting rid of me. Oncewe are out at sea, what will they have to fear from me? No one couldhear my shouts. As to demanding an explanation and making a fuss, itwould be useless. Besides, what am I to the men who have carried usoff? A mere hospital attendant--one Gaydon, who is of no consequence.It is Thomas Roch they were after. I was taken along too because Ihappened to return to the pavilion at the critical moment.

At any rate, no matter what happens, no matter who our kidnappers maybe, no matter where we are taken, I shall stick to this resolution: Iwill continue to play my role of warder. No one, no! none, can suspectthat Gaydon is Simon Hart, the engineer. There are two advantages inthis: in the first place, they will take no notice of a poor devilof a warder, and in the second, I may be able to solve the mysterysurrounding this plot and turn my knowledge to profit, if I succeed inmaking my escape.

But whither are my thoughts wandering? I must perforce wait till wearrive at our destination before thinking of escaping. It will be timeenough to bother about that when the occasion presents itself. Untilthen the essential is that they remain ignorant as to my identity, andthey cannot, and shall not, know who I am.

I am now certain that we are going through the water. But there is onething that puzzles me. It is hot a sailing vessel, neither can it be asteamer. Yet it is incontestably propelled by some powerful machine.There are none of the noises, nor is there the trembling thataccompanies the working of steam engines. The movement of the vesselis more continuous and regular, it is a sort of direct rotation thatis communicated by the motor, whatever the latter may be. No mistakeis possible: the ship is propelled by some special mechanism. But whatis it?

Is it one of those turbines that have been spoken of lately, which,fitted into a submerged tube, are destined to replace the ordinaryscrew, it being claimed that they utilize the resistance of the waterbetter than the latter and give increased speed to a ship?

In a few hours' time I shall doubtless know all about this means oflocomotion.

Meanwhile there is another thing that equally puzzles me. There is notthe slightest rolling or pitching. How is it that Pamlico Sound is soextraordinarily calm? The varying currents continuously ruffle thesurface of the Sound, even if nothing else does.

It is true the tide may be out, and I remember that last nightthe wind had fallen altogether. Still, no matter, the thing isinexplicable, for a ship propelled by machinery, no matter at whatspeed she may be going, always oscillates more or less, and I cannotperceive the slightest rocking.

Such are the thoughts with which my mind is persistently filled.Despite an almost overpowering desire to sleep, despite the torporthat is coming upon me in this suffocating atmosphere, I am resolvednot to close my eyes. I will keep awake till daylight, and there willbe no daylight for me till it is let into my prison from the outside.Perhaps even if the door were open it would not penetrate to thisblack hole, and I shall probably not see it again until I am taken ondeck.

I am squatting in a corner of my prison, for I have no stool oranything to sit upon, but as my eyelids are heavy and I feel somnolentin spite of myself, I get up and walk about. Then I wax wrathful,anger fills my soul, I beat upon the iron walls with my fists, andshout for help. In vain! I hurt my hands against the bolts of theplates, and no one answers my cries.

Such conduct is unworthy of me. I flattered myself that I would remaincalm under all circumstances and here I am acting like a child.

The absence of any rolling or lurching movement at least proves thatwe are not yet at sea. Instead of crossing Pamlico Sound, may we notbe going in the opposite direction, up the River Neuse? No! What wouldthey go further inland for? If Thomas Roch has been carried off fromHealthful House, his captors obviously mean to take him out of theUnited States--probably to a distant island in the Atlantic, or tosome point on the European continent. It is, therefore, not up theNeuse that our maritime machine, whatever it may be, is going, butacross Pamlico Sound, which must be as calm as a mirror.

Very well, then, when we get to sea I shall soon, know, for the vesselwill rock right enough in the swell off shore, even though there beno wind,--unless I am aboard a battleship, or big cruiser, and this Ifancy can hardly be!

But hark! If I mistake not--no, it was not imagination--I hearfootsteps. Some one is approaching the side of the compartment wherethe door is. One of the crew no doubt. Are they going to let me out atlast? I can now hear voices. A conversation is going on outside thedoor, but it is carried on in a language that I do not understand. Ishout to them--I shout again, but no answer is vouchsafed.

There is nothing to do, then, but wait, wait, wait! I keep repeatingthe word and it rings in my ears like a bell.

Let me try to calculate how long I have been here. The ship must havebeen under way for at least four or five hours. I reckon it must bepast midnight, but I cannot tell, for unfortunately my watch is of nouse to me in this Cimmerian darkness.

Now, if we have been going for five hours, we must have clearedPamlico Sound, whether we issued by Ocracoke or Hatteras inlet, andmust be off the coast a good mile, at least. Yet I haven't felt anymotion from the swell of the sea.

It is inexplicable, incredible! Come now, have I made a mistake? AmI the dupe of an illusion? Am I not imprisoned in the hold of a shipunder way?

Another hour has passed and the movement of the ship suddenly ceases;I realize perfectly that she is stationary. Has she reached herdestination? In this event we can only be in one of the coast portsto the north or south of Pamlico Sound. But why should Thomas Roch belanded again? The abduction must soon have been discovered, and ourkidnappers would run the greatest risk of falling into the hands ofthe authorities if they attempted to disembark.

However this may be, if the vessel is coming to anchor I shall hearthe noise of the chain as it is paid out, and feel the jerk asthe ship is brought up. I know that sound and that jerk well fromexperience, and I am bound to hear and feel them in a minute or two.

I wait--I listen.

A dead and disquieting silence reigns on board. I begin to wonderwhether I am not the only living being in the ship.

Now I feel an irresistible torpor coming over me. The air is vitiated.I cannot breathe. My chest is bursting. I try to resist, but it isimpossible to do so. The temperature rises to such a degree that I amcompelled to divest myself of part of my clothing. Then I lie me downin a corner. My heavy eyelids close, and I sink into a prostrationthat eventually forces me into heavy slumber.

How long have I been asleep? I cannot say. Is it night? Is it day? Iknow not. I remark, however, that I breathe more easily, and that theair is no longer poisoned carbonic acid.

Was the air renewed while I slept? Has the door been opened? Hasanybody been in here?

Yes, here is the proof of it!

In feeling about, my hand has come in contact with a mug filled witha liquid that exhales an inviting odor. I raise it to my lips, which,are burning, for I am suffering such an agony of thirst that I wouldeven drink brackish water.

It is ale--an ale of excellent quality--which refreshes and comfortsme, and I drain the pint to the last drop.

But if they have not condemned me to die of thirst, neither have theycondemned me to die of hunger, I suppose?

No, for in one of the corners I find a basket, and this basketcontains some bread and cold meat.

I fall to, eating greedily, and my strength little by little returns.

Decidedly, I am not so abandoned as I thought I was. Some one enteredthis obscure hole, and the open door admitted a little of the oxygenfrom the outside, without which I should have been suffocated. Thenthe wherewithal to quench my thirst and appease the pangs of hungerwas placed within my reach.

How much longer will this incarceration last? Days? Months? I cannotestimate the hours that have elapsed since I fell asleep, nor have Iany idea as to what time of the day or night it may be. I was carefulto wind up my watch, though, and perhaps by feeling the hands--Yes, Ithink the little hand marks eight o'clock--in the morning, no doubt.What I do know, however, is that the ship is not in motion. There isnot the slightest quiver.

Hours and hours, weary, interminable hours go by, and I wonder whetherthey are again waiting till night comes on to renew my stock ofair and provisions. Yes, they are waiting to take advantage of myslumbers. But this time I am resolved to resist. I will feign to beasleep--and I shall know how to force an answer from whoever enters!

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